


Rules 1-2

by Anonymous



Category: Fast & Furious (Movies)
Genre: Bisexual Brian O'Conner, Friends With Benefits, Growing Up, Intercrural Sex, Internalized Homophobia, Light Bondage, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Self-Acceptance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-17 09:00:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29347791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: It starts because they’re eighteen, drunk, and stupid.
Relationships: Brian O'Conner/Roman Pearce
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18
Collections: Anonymous





	Rules 1-2

**Author's Note:**

> there's a couple homophobic slurs in here, so be warned.

It starts on Brian’s first night back from juvie. It starts because they’re eighteen, drunk, and stupid.

They’ve been knocking back more whiskey than either of them can really handle, swigs from a bottle of Jack that they pass back and forth, and inevitably they end up rolling across the carpet, each trying to pin the other. Brian couldn’t tell you what the fuck they’re fighting about, but that’s never mattered with Rome. They’ll fight about anything.

“Damn, man, you didn’t get any less annoying while I was locked up?” Brian teases, an arm around Rome’s neck. Even as drunk as he is, he makes sure to keep his grip loose. He’d learned all kinds of new tricks in juvie, but that was out of necessity. It’s not necessary here with Rome – they’re not actually trying to hurt each other.

“Shut up,” Rome says petulantly, jabbing Brian ruthlessly in the side to make him let go. It works like a dream – Brian flinches away and curls up into a little ball for a few seconds, trying to suck air back into his lungs. Fucker.

“ _You_ shut up!”

And then Rome shouts the words that send everything to hell: “Blow me, Brian!”

Because Brian is eighteen, drunk, and stupid, he doesn’t kick Rome in the face like he probably should. No, instead he taunts, “Oh yeah? Maybe I fucking will!” and reaches for Rome’s waistband. It’s a joke, of _course_ it’s a joke, but when Brian’s clumsy fingers pop the button on his friend’s jeans, it stops being funny really damn fast.

They stare at each other with wide blown eyes for a single, endless moment, hands shaking and chests heaving, and then Brian yanks down Rome’s zip with a metallic _schwip_. They don’t say a word, both pairs of their drunken hands scrambling to get Rome’s pants and underwear down around his knees, exposing his dick to the cold air of the O’Conners’ basement. It’s not like Brian’s never seen Rome’s dick before – they’ve been friends pretty much their entire lives – but he’s never seen it like this, well on its way to hard and all because of Brian. _God_.

Brian spits into his hand and gives Rome a couple jerks until he’s all the way there, then wastes no time getting his mouth on him. Despite the way the older kids on the block used to call Brian _faggot_ like it was his given name, Brian has no idea what the fuck he’s doing. He chokes before he’s even halfway down and he’s drooling _everywhere_. It’s probably gross, but Rome doesn’t seem to mind, eyes squeezed shut and low moans falling from between his lips. Brian keeps trying, pulling back to suck on the head and using his hands for the rest like Tonya used to do, pre-juvie. That girl may have been the bad kind of trouble, but she sure knew how to give head.

At some point, Rome slides his fingers into Brian’s hair, tugging at the curls and making Brian see stars. He’s been painfully hard for ages now and it almost sends him over the edge. He pulls off long enough to rasp, “Do that again,” before he’s right back at it, doubling his efforts. Rome obeys, giving an almighty yank that makes Brian groan, his hips snapping forward of their own accord.

The vibrations must do it, because Rome comes without warning, hitting the back of Brian’s throat and making him choke. He breathes harshly through his nose until it’s over and then he’s diving for the wastepaper basket, spitting out the mouthful because he just can’t make himself swallow it. His dick is aching in his pants, begging for relief. 

Now that Rome is sated, Brian expects the jokes to start up. The _did they teach you that in prison?_ or the _I always knew you were a little bitch_ , but they don’t come. Instead, Rome grabs Brian beneath his armpits and hauls him in, settling him across his lap, his pants and underwear pulled back up. Brian is confused until Rome starts rolling his hips and then he gets it. It only takes a few desperate, graceless thrusts and he’s coming, too, right into his jeans. He gasps for air as he clutches Rome’s t-shirt in his hands, wiped out and beyond shocked. Fuck, they really did that, didn’t they?

They don’t talk about it.

Not when they pull shakily apart, not when Brian wads up his dirty boxers and shoves them into the bottom of the trash, not when they finally pass out on the basement floor, and _definitely_ not when they wake up the same way. The way Rome is acting – like his usual idiot self – makes Brian wonder if he even remembers. They _were_ pretty drunk. The details are hazy for Brian as well, but he knows several things for sure: that he put Rome’s dick in his mouth and that he liked it. It terrifies him. _No one_ can find out. Not even Rome. 

If he doesn’t remember, Brian is going to keep it that way.

\---

The next time it happens they’re sober as the grave and they can’t pretend otherwise. 

They’d spent the evening racing out in the desert, gunning their engines as fast as they dared in the sand and winning pocket change from their opponents. Barstow doesn’t have much of a car scene, so there’s no racing for pinks or real cash, but it’s still fun. The only one who really gives Brian a run for his money is Rome. By the time the night is over, Brian is about fifty bucks richer.

“Eighty-three,” Rome crows, counting out his bills and shoving them into his pocket. “Looks like Blondie forgot how to drive in juvie!”

“You know what I didn’t forget?” Brian says with faux annoyance, biting his bottom lip to keep from smiling. “How to fight!”

With that, he clocks Rome right in the jaw, sending him sprawling. 

“Ugh, fuck _you_ ,” Rome seethes from the ground, popping back up to his feet without hesitation. “Why you always gotta be like this?”

They throw punches back and forth, dodging most of them and crying out in playful rage on the occasions that they can’t. They’re gradually working their way up the driveway, the dilapidated front porch almost in reach, when Rome shoves Brian up against his mother’s car and pins him there with a resolute forearm.

It’s like Brian’s brain whites out. Suddenly he’s not thinking about shoving and fighting, he’s thinking about touching and fucking. His body goes instantly hot as he’s reminded of the last time they were this close, chest to chest and hips to hips, and he’s embarrassingly hard in seconds. He barely bites back a whimper.

Whatever is on Brian’s face must be incriminating, because Rome’s eyebrows pull together in confusion for a second before realization blooms in his dark eyes. He glances down at where their bodies are mere centimeters apart. Brian’s face goes red with humiliation, traveling down his neck and his chest. He’s wearing basketball shorts and there’s no way his boner isn’t excruciatingly obvious. God, he wants to die.

“Brian,” Rome warns, tone strangely authoritative. Brian’s dick twitches in response and he has to squeeze his eyes shut against the pure, unadulterated mortification. There’s something fucking wrong with him. It’s not the juvenile delinquent tendencies or the time spent in jail, it’s whatever the fuck _this_ is. “Are you serious?”

“I’m sorry,” Brian whispers, barely able to find his voice. His eyes are still closed, trying to avoid seeing Rome’s disgust for as long as possible. “I’m—I’m sorry. You can beat the shit out of me, okay? I won’t even fight back. Just—just hit me as hard as you can.”

But to Brian’s surprise, the hand that touches his face isn’t violent. It doesn’t hurt him. It’s almost…gentle. His eyes fly open. “Rome?”

“Shut the fuck up,” his friend orders and then he puts a hand down Brian’s shorts. 

Brian keens immediately, having to bury his face in Rome’s shoulder so he won’t further embarrass himself. He should probably point out that they’re _outside_ in the _driveway_ and anyone could walk by and see them at any second, but he’s one hundred percent sure that if he opens his mouth all that’s going to come out is _more more please fuck shit fuck!_ So he keeps quiet and hopes the darkness is absolute enough to hide them from prying eyes. 

It only takes about half a minute for Brian to feel himself teetering on the edge and he shoves his hips forward desperately, a vague feeling of needing something just a little bit _more_. That something ends up being Rome’s fingers twining into the hair at the base of his neck and tugging just hard enough to feel it. Brian comes with a hoarse cry and the fleeting realization of what it means: Rome remembers. He remembers even though they were drunk.

Brian shudders.

All pretenses out the window, Brian takes Rome by the shoulders and shoves him backwards until they’re hidden in the shadows of the garage. Darkness or not, he doesn’t need anyone seeing him on his knees.

Because that’s where he goes immediately, concrete cold on his bare skin and hands shaking as he unhooks Rome’s belt. He’s too keyed up to get the button loose, making displeased noises in the back of his throat until Rome takes pity on him, opening his own pants and guiding his dick to Brian’s mouth. Brian opens without hesitation.

It’s a little bit easier than before, a better angle and no thrum of alcohol in his system. He still chokes periodically, but after a while he figures out how to relax his throat and dampen his gag reflex. When Rome comes, he makes himself swallow it because Brian fucking O’Conner doesn’t do things by halves.

They don’t talk about it this time, either. Rome just reaches down and yanks Brian back to his feet. Once their clothes are righted and Brian has smoothed his hair back down, they go into the house like nothing happened. Mom feeds them frozen pizza and water from the tap and doesn’t ask how they spent their evening.

They wouldn’t have told her the truth, anyway.

\---

It becomes a thing after that. 

Whenever they get bored or horny or keyed up on adrenaline, they hook up and never mention it afterwards. Brian usually uses his mouth, but Rome _always_ uses his hand. Brian thinks the prospect of blowing him is a little too real for his best friend. He doesn’t really mind. It’s not like they’re dating. This is just some weird growing pains thing now that Brian is back from lockup and they’re technically adults but haven’t found good girls to commit to yet. It’s always been slim pickings in Barstow. They’re just doing what they have to.

Some guy calls Brian a _homo_ at a party a couple days after his nineteenth birthday. In times past, he’d always been able to laugh that stupid shit off, but this time it has his heart pounding hard in his chest and his shoulders climbing up around his ears. He knows there’s no chance that anyone knows how he’s been spending his time – they’ve never been caught and there’s no way in hell _Rome_ would ever tell – but it still scares him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Brian is glad that Rome wasn’t there to hear it. 

He’s not ready to lose this with Rome. Not yet, anyway.

They’re just barely twenty when Rome blows Brian for the very first time. They’re out on some crappy highway forty miles from Barstow in the heat of the day, pushing the speedometer up past 90 as they lazily hang their hands out the windows, letting them ride the currents of the wind. It seems like it’s going to be a normal day, going as fast as the traffic allows and flipping off anyone who lays on their horn, but then Rome says, voice oddly quiet, “Whatever you do, keep driving.”

Brain raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“Just keep driving, O’Conner.”

Then he shoves the waistband of Brian’s shorts down below his dick and leans over his lap, face-first. 

The first touch of Rome’s mouth between Brian’s legs has him shouting out loud and swerving into the next lane. Luckily, no one’s over there and he quickly corrects himself, blood draining from his face and directly down into his dick. “Oh fuck!” he cries, eyes going wide as Rome bobs up and down with a level of competence he didn’t expect. The thought that Rome might have been practicing on someone else flashes through Brian’s head, bothering him more than he’d like to admit, but it quickly disappears when Rome swirls his tongue and makes Brian buck helplessly into his friend’s face. “Shit, sorry,” he quickly apologizes, white knuckling the steering wheel. His legs feel like jelly and their speed is dipping down to 75. “Shit, you feel—you feel so g-good, Roman.”

It’s the most words they’ve ever exchanged since starting this, the most admission that it’s actually happening. Brian snaps his mouth shut, biting down on the inside of his cheeks to stop himself from saying more. Rome can’t stop now – he _has_ to keep going. Brian _has_ to come. He thinks he’ll cry if he doesn’t get to.

Their speed drops lower and lower as Brian gets closer, eyes squinting into little slits as he fights to keep his eyes open. They’re going to be a fucking hazard in a second, but he can’t bring himself to care. He feels like he’s going to explode.

When Rome pulls back and orders roughly, “Come on, Bri,” Brian obeys almost instantly. Come splatters onto his t-shirt, the steering wheel, and the underside of Rome’s jaw. The noise that comes out of Brian’s mouth is absolutely mortifying, but he can’t hold it back, much too loud as he finally, finally shoves the gas pedal back down. They’re back to 90 in seconds.

“Thank—” Brian starts, before remembering himself and biting his lip so hard he draws blood. He can’t jinx this – he won’t be able to live with himself.

Instead, he reaches over and brings Rome off with a hand down his pants. There’s some joke about a gearshift on the tip of his tongue, but he bites that back, too. Sometimes even Brian knows what’s good for him.

\---

Brian likes girls. That’s never been up for debate. 

They’re beautiful and soft and they smell good, way better than dudes, and there isn’t anything quite like laying a girl down and having her scratch your back up. And anything sexual aside, they’re usually pretty sweet and if they aren’t, it’s all part of the charm. Brian _loves_ girls, he always has.

But right now there’s one girl in particular that he hates more than he’s ever hated anybody.

He can’t remember her name and, honestly, Rome probably can’t either, but right now Rome’s got her backed up against the wall at this stupid house party, his fingers in her shiny hair and the Pearce charm turned up to eleven. She’s looking up at him with big, pretty brown eyes and leaning in periodically to whisper things into his ear that make him grin wickedly and slowly trail his hands down to her waist. When she pointedly tugs at his belt, Brian has to look away.

Instead, he focuses on his beer that he’s finally _almost_ old enough to drink, fiddling with the label and chasing the drips of condensation with the tip of his finger. He knows he doesn’t deserve to feel betrayed – though it’s been almost three years since he and Rome started hooking up, they’re still not dating. They’re _never_ going to date and neither of them even want to. That’s not what this is about. It’s just the growing pains thing, getting off when they need to and pretending like it’s not happening. But it’s like there’s a disconnect between what Brian knows in his head and what he feels in his chest. 

Because as he watches Rome take the girl upstairs, all he can think about is how they’ve perfected the art of road head, able to take the highways at a hundred-plus without even flinching as they get each other off. How Brian knows Rome’s body almost as well as he knows his own. How Brian hasn’t hooked up with anyone else since this first started, other than a few clumsy, drunken make outs with girls he hasn’t thought about since.

He may hate one girl in particular, but he wants one _boy_ in particular. It scares him and embarrasses him in equal parts.

And now that boy is upstairs with someone who isn’t him.

He sets off in search of something stronger than beer, planning to get so fucked up he can’t stand up let alone think, but as he’s reaching for a shot glass of something deceptively blue, he feels a tap on his shoulder. When he turns around in confusion, he comes face to face with Tonya.

Tonya was probably Brian’s first girlfriend. They’d never put a label on it, but she was the first girl he’d ever fucked and they’d run around together until he got locked up. She was fucking crazy – like arson and battery crazy – but she’d always been kind to him for the most part. Now she grins up at him, dark makeup around her eyes and glitter in her hair. 

“’Sup, stranger,” she says, smile a little lopsided. She’s tipsy, too.

“Hey, girl,” he greets her, putting a hand to the small of her back and leading her away from the busy part of the kitchen. “You got out early, huh?”

She nods, proud of herself. “Good behavior,” she boasts. “And overcrowding. You’d be surprised at how many crazy bitches there are in SoCal.”

It shocks a laugh out of Brian. “Yeah, and I bet at least forty percent of them are from Barstow.”

“Yeah, probably.” Then her grin drops into something much darker, something full of intent. She nods at the shot glass in Brian’s hand, forgotten until this point, and suggests, “How about we find a bedroom and you can take that off my body?”

Brian’s mind instantly kicks into high gear, thoughts bouncing around at breakneck speed and most of them centered around Rome. It makes him suddenly and almost violently pissed off. Because there’s no way in hell Rome is upstairs with that girl thinking about Brian. He hasn’t thought about Brian since they got the invite to the party, instantly launching into some stupid, skirt-chasing locker room talk. Brian squares his shoulders. If Rome’s not going to think about him, he’s not going to think about Rome.

“Let’s go,” Brian agrees and they do.

Tonya scratches him up something fierce, still just as enthusiastic a lay as she was in high school, and Brian’s brain goes blessedly blank for a while. It feels so damn good to be on top of someone – he hasn’t gotten it like this since before juvie, _god_ – but as her hands travel up and down his body, persistently stroking at the muscles of his back and neck, Brian’s skin is hot with longing. His scalp tingles with anticipation. He wants her to pull his hair so fucking badly. 

He could probably ask her to – it’s not _that_ weird – but all he can think about is that Rome would’ve done it already. He growls into the sweaty skin of her neck, banishing the thought. Rome isn’t fucking here right now and Brian is _glad_. Rome’s an asshole.

When Tonya seizes up around him, she clutches at the back of Brian’s head and it’s not exactly pulling, but it’s close enough. He comes with a sharp cry and collapses on top of her, kissing gently at her face like he’s her sorta-boyfriend again. She giggles, wrapping her arms around him. She always could be sweet when she wanted to.

Brian makes a big show of bragging about Tonya to Rome as they walk home. It feels unnatural and brittle in his mouth – he’s always preferred to keep the details to himself – but the more he talks, the less he has to hear about Rome’s girl. By some miracle, Brian manages to keep it up all the way to Rome’s apartment, sending his friend off with a smack on the back without ever being treated to the play-by-play of the Roman Experience. It’s a huge relief.

But as Brian walks the last mile back to his house, the relief is replaced by an overwhelming annoyance at himself. He’s fucking _pathetic_. He’s acting like a clingy girlfriend. Rome is allowed to do whatever he wants – he doesn’t owe Brian anything. Bros do this shit all the time – if Brian got too attached, that’s his problem.

One thing’s for sure, any pretense of _casual_ Brian has been able to entertain until this point is swiftly and definitively gone. He’s well and truly fucked.

\---

“You gonna give me a pat down, officer?” Rome goads, sultry words belied by the goofy waggling of his eyebrows up and down. “Cuff my hands behind my back?”

Brian rolls his eyes. “Shut up. Besides, they don’t give us cuffs until we’ve graduated from the police academy.”

“Stupid. I still don’t know why you need some damn academy to teach you how to use a Glock. This is fucking Barstow…everyone here was born with a gun in one hand and a crowbar in the other.” Then a slow grin pulls across his face and he yanks his belt from its loops. “Here. Now you don’t need no cuffs.”

“What?” Brian stares at him, mouth going bone dry. “You—what?”

Rome won’t meet Brian’s eyes. “Don’t be weird about it.”

It’s like fucking whiplash, the energy in the room going from silly and playful to hot and heavy so quickly it makes Brian’s head spin. But this is the first time Rome has ever requested something, the first time he’s said more than _more_ or _fuck_ or _gonna come_ since that fateful night in Brian’s basement, so Brian rapidly shakes himself out of it and takes the belt carefully from his best friend with trembling hands. “You want me to—?” he whispers, just to be sure.

Rome nods, eyes focused down at the floor.

“Okay. Okay, Rome. That’s okay.”

Holding his breath like he’s afraid to break the hushed spell that’s fallen over them, Brian pulls Rome’s arms behind his back and loops the belt around his wrists several times. Then he buckles it, tight enough not to slip but loose enough that it won’t hurt. He hooks a finger into the loop, giving it an experimental tug to see if it holds. It does. Rome groans and it goes straight to Brian’s dick.

“There,” Brian says quietly. It’s strange to actually be communicating while he’s hard in his jeans. “How does that feel?”

“Good,” Rome rasps harshly and then he’s dropping to his knees.

Brian has to lock his knees to keep his from buckling, too. Rome looks absolutely gorgeous like this, down on the ground and his biceps straining against the belt keeping his arms behind his back. He looks halfway to wrecked already, tipping his head back to look submissively up at Brian through his eyelashes. “Oh god,” Brian says succinctly like the idiot he is.

“Don’t play,” Rome tells him, eyes beseeching. “C’mon, just—please.”

Brian doesn’t have to be told twice, getting his dick out and holding it to Rome’s lips. He chokes when his friend takes him down in one shot, opening his throat up with an impressive amount of finesse. Then Rome holds still, looking up at Brian like _well?_ When it dawns on Brian what Rome wants, he lets out an embarrassingly loud moan, entire body lit on fire. Then he fucks into Rome’s face, feeling like he’s going to shake out of his skin. He makes sure to be careful, _can’t_ be anything but careful with Rome, but takes what he needs. Takes what Rome needs to give him. And when he comes it’s so overwhelming that he can’t hold himself up any longer, sinking to the floor with a groan.

Rome is trembling so hard it scares Brian. He grabs his friend’s shoulders in alarm, pulling him forward to hold him against his chest. “You okay? Please say you’re okay,” he pleads, eyes wide with worry. He strokes Rome’s hair, his back, the sides of his face. “Rome? Shit, lemme get that fucking thing off you.”

But when he reaches for the belt, Rome makes a desperate sound that makes Brian freeze up. “No.” It’s quiet and thin but it’s there. “N-no, leave it on. Just—just touch me, Bri. Please?” He lets out a sound that’s almost a sob. “I n-need you!”

“Shh, I’ve got you,” Brian shushes him, chin resting on the top of Rome’s head. “You’re okay, I’ve got you.”

It only takes a couple tugs of Brian’s hand for Rome to come, splattering onto Brian’s shirt. As he shakes apart, Brian holds him through the whole thing, heart racing at their proximity as well as the depth of what they’d done. In the stupidest part of Brian’s brain, he wonders if this will be a turning point. Wonders if maybe they’ll start talking about it. Give a name to it. Not _boyfriends_ , of course, because they’re not fucking gay or interested in any of that white picket fence bullshit, but maybe something a little closer to _exclusive_. Because Brian doesn’t know what he’ll do if he has to watch Rome hook up with another girl after this.

But of course that’s exactly what happens. Because once Rome has recovered, he orders Brian to take the belt off of his wrists and then slips it back into his beltloops, fixing his clothes and practically racing for the front door without ever looking Brian in the eyes. And when they go to a bar that weekend, he fucks some blue-eyed-blonde in the bathroom while Brian drowns himself in beer after beer and categorically doesn’t think about it. 

When they leave for the night, Brian tells Rome that he scored, too. He says she’s the best he’s ever had.

\---

After their impromptu little bondage session, Brian was worried they might be done for. They’d broken their first and only rule of engagement: they’d talked about it. But it’s only about a week later that they celebrate their victory at the pickup basketball game with mutual handjobs in the backseat of Rome’s car. When it’s over, Rome meets Brian’s eyes and smiles, filling Brian with contentment.

They’re okay. Somehow, they’re still okay.

They keep it up through the rest of Brian’s police training and then after he graduates from the academy, too. Brian can tell that Rome is unimpressed with his career choice, but he mostly keeps it to himself. Brian, for his part, isn’t exactly sure what other options he had. Sure, he could work at a garage, but minimum wage wouldn’t put food on the table. And seeing that his only other marketable skill is fighting, the police department it was. 

Besides, he didn’t see Rome complaining when they’d put Brian’s shiny new handcuffs to good use. He’d just moaned and shook and came his brains out. And once his hands were free, he’d yanked on Brian’s hair so hard Brian had nearly cried at how good it felt. So he doesn’t really think Rome has any room to talk.

Then Rome gets a girlfriend and everything goes to shit.

Her name is Daria and she’s tall, beautiful, and mouthy enough to give Rome a run for his money. Brian wants to hate her just like he’s hated all the rest of Rome’s conquests, but for some reason he can’t. Maybe it’s because she’s made it to girlfriend status and thus is there to stay or maybe it’s because she makes Rome’s face light up like a summer’s day. Or maybe it’s just because Brian is a glutton for punishment. Either way, he begrudgingly accepts her newfound place in their lives and tries not to let on how disappointed he is.

Club and party hookups were one thing, a capital-G _girlfriend_ is another. Brian’s not sure how he’s supposed to compete with that.

Not that he wants to be Rome’s boyfriend. He just wants Rome all to himself. Rome is all he’s known since getting out of juvie – having to share him sounds awful. The only thing that would be more awful is having to give him up altogether.

Brian spends the next six weeks splitting his time between his new cop job and hanging out with Rome and his girl, feeling more and more lost and neglected as time goes on. They haven’t fucked since Daria came on the scene, Rome having plenty of opportunities to get his rocks off that don’t include Brian. Brian tries to convince himself that the sickness he feels swirling in his stomach every time he looks at Rome is just horniness – god knows his own hand is poor company – but when a strange lump rises in his throat at the sight of Rome and Daria kissing, he realizes what it really is: heartbreak.

He’s heartbroken. He, Brian O’Conner, is heartbroken because his best friend is with someone else. God, what has his life become?

Brian deals with the epiphany the same way he deals with most things that hurt: he gets drunk about it. But this time, he doesn’t head to a bar or a club, he just kicks back with a bottle of vodka in his childhood bedroom he hasn’t managed to move out of yet and drowns himself. He’s well on his way to blurred vision when the bedroom door opens and Rome creeps inside. 

“Bri? You awake?”

Brian moans in answer.

“You drinking without me?” There’s a smile in Rome’s voice. “Dumbass.”

“You c’n have some,” Brian slurs, flinging his arm out and barely managing to hold onto the bottle. “It’s th’ cheap shit but it does th’ job.”

“Nothing but the best for Barstow’s finest,” Rome teases, sinking down onto the edge of Brian’s bed and taking a huge swig of the liquor. He grimaces then swallows some more, like he’s trying to catch up to Brian as quickly as possible. “Move over, I wan’ lie down. I’m fuckin’ tired, bro.”

Brian obeys, warmth erupting in his chest as Rome settles down next to him. Despite the sharp turn their relationship has taken in the past four years, the times they’ve ever truly laid down next to each other are few and far between. It feels really nice. It makes Brian want to hold him.

So he does, turning onto his side and snaking his arms around Rome’s waist, too drunk to think better of it. Rome must be pretty drunk, too, because he doesn’t push Brian away, just curls a little closer until their heads are pressed together. Then they just lie there, chests rising and falling in unison. Brian’s nose is pushed up against Rome’s shoulder.

Brian can feel himself getting hard, but in an abstract way that doesn’t come with the normal drive to do anything about it. He’s content to just stay like this, soaking up Rome’s body heat and pretending like this is real. Like he can have this. Like they’ll fall asleep together and wake up in each other’s arms. Like they’ll talk about it afterwards.

“I miss you,” he whines out because he just can’t help it. “Rome, I—I r’lly, r’lly miss you.”

Rome laughs a little, breath puffing against the side of Brian’s face. “I ain’t been anywhere, man.”

“No, I mean—” Brian huffs in annoyance, thoughts scattered. “I mean, I miss you like _this_.”

Then, quiet and hesitant and more vulnerable than Brian has ever heard him, Rome says, “Me too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Feeling almost giddy with relief, Brian lets the alcohol guide him, slinging a leg across Rome and shifting until he’s lying on top of his best friend. Brian moans quietly, pleased to find that Rome is hard as well. Suddenly it doesn’t seem so abstract, so background. It’s right back to the forefront of things, desperate and hot, and Brian wants to fuck and he wants to fuck _now_.

Luckily, Rome does too, bucking his hips up against Brian with a frantic whimper. “C’mon,” he’s saying, hands gripping onto the back of Brian’s t-shirt. “C’mon, let’s—let’s—” He can’t finish his sentence, but it’s okay. Brian will figure something out. He always does.

For the very first time, they end up completely naked, dripping precome all over each other and breathing harshly in each other’s faces as they squirm and thrust and touch anything they can reach. Then Brian fucks between Rome’s thighs, making them both cry out at how intense it is. How close it is to the real thing. There’s no way they’d ever do this sober and Brian knows that distantly, but it doesn’t put a damper on his enthusiasm at all. He’s got his face buried in Rome’s neck, making desperate noises as Rome twines his hands into his hair and thrusts up to meet him. A good yank has Brian coming hard into his sheets, but even as overcome as he is, he manages to get a hand between them and pull Rome off as well as he can, shivering at the burning heat that ends up spattered across his chest. 

It’s the closest they’ve ever been, bare skin on bare skin and close enough that their noses are almost touching, and suddenly Brian’s heart feels like it’s too big for his chest. Girlfriends will come and go, but Brian and Rome will always have each other.

It’s as a huge wave of joy and affection washes over him that Brian makes his fatal mistake: he kisses Rome. They’re alone together in the dark and they’re panting for breath and Rome is Brian’s best friend in the entire world and he _kisses_ him.

It takes a few seconds to realize that Rome isn’t kissing back, his body gone dead still and his lips pinched shut like he’s trying to lock Brian out. Confused, Brian pulls away, sitting back on his heels and squinting down at Rome in the dark. “Rome?” he whispers, drunk and unsure and stupid. “You alright?”

“Get off me, Brian,” is Rome’s simple response, voice hard and allowing for no argument. Brian flinches back like he’s been tased, scrambling from his perch on Rome’s pelvis to kneel next to his friend on the bed instead.

“What’s wrong?” Brian’s voice cracks. His head is spinning.

Rome sits up, the change in position bringing his face into view in the moonlight streaming in from the window. He looks absolutely furious, face drawn up in an ugly scowl and teeth clenched so hard they probably hurt. That’s when Brian realizes what a huge mistake he’s made. He’d thought there was only one rule to their arrangement – it turns out that there were _two_.

For the first time in his life, Brian is scared of Rome. He swallows hard, body starting to tremble with panic.

“What’re you trying to do?” Rome demands, not a trace of his former gentleness left. “What was that?”

“Nothing!” Brian cries, hoarse and small. He pulls the blanket into his lap, suddenly self-conscious of his nakedness. “Nothing, I—it was just a kiss! I just felt—I was happy with you and—”

“ _Happy_ with me?” Rome cuts in, nearly snarling it. They’re being much too loud in the nighttime quietness of the house, but Brian’s mom isn’t likely to come in and check on them. She’d stopped giving a shit about what Brian got up to somewhere around his tenth birthday. “Is that what you think this is? That we’re together? Because we’re not and we _never_ will be.”

God, Brian wants to _cry_. This is a fucking mess. “No, I know!” he promises desperately, wishing he was sober. It’s hard to get his thoughts together. He has no control of the words that are pouring out of his mouth. “I’m sorry, okay? We, you know, did _that_ —” He gestures at the rumpled, dirty sheets. “—and it fucked with my head and I just—”

Rome veritably growls, yanking himself from Brian’s bed like he can’t stand to be in it for a second longer. He looks to be panicking, too, fingers raking emphatically back and forth over his hair. “You’re the one that started all this fag shit in the first place!” Rome cries, the word making Brian flinch and whimper out loud. It feels like being socked in the gut, hard enough to crack ribs. “This is all _your_ fault, dragging me down with you. What the _fuck_! This is over, okay? It’s over.”

Then he turns his back to Brian and starts putting his clothes on.

It brings Brian’s body to life, leaping off the bed to grab at Rome’s shoulders, begging without words for him to turn around, to look at him for just a second. Rome doesn’t. “No, wait!”

“Shut _up_.” It’s an order, dark and brought up from somewhere deep in Rome’s chest. There’s a sneer in his voice when he adds, the comment barbed and poisonous, “Go find yourself a boyfriend or something.”

Left all alone, Brian cries bitterly into his pillow until his throat aches and his eyes feel swollen. No one has to tell him that he’s just lost his best friend. He knows.

\---

This time it’s really over. 

Brian doesn’t see Rome for a full two weeks, doing his responsibilities at work on autopilot and slogging around his house like there are weights strapped to his ankles. It’s a testament to how pitiful he must look that his mother actually sits down with him at the dinner table one night, reaching over to smooth his hair away from his forehead and asking, “Do you wanna talk about it, baby?”

They haven’t talked since he was little. Not about anything real, anyway. And there’s no way in _hell_ they can talk about this.

“I’m good,” he lies, feeling brittle and hollowed out. He’s on the wrong side of heartbroken now, the numb side. The void side. “Just tired. New job, you know?”

She clearly doesn’t believe him, but she lets it go. Brian is grateful. If she pushes even a little bit, he’s not entirely sure he’ll be able to keep it all inside. Knowing she’s got a queer for a son might just break her once and for all and Brian doesn’t really want to witness that. God.

Because that’s what he is, isn’t he? He’s avoided thinking about it for four whole years, but there’s no escaping it now. He’s a regular old card-carrying queer who got too attached to his straight best friend and turned everything into a giant fucking _mess_. Sometimes, when he’s feeling extra dramatic, he thinks he wants to die.

When Brian does finally see Rome, his friend is in handcuffs being marched through the station to the holding cells. Brian gapes at the sight, feeling like the rug has been yanked out from underneath his feet, but when Rome notices him all he does is scowl. Brian looks quickly away, entire body aching.

A mere two weeks ago, Brian would’ve been down to lockup within seconds to check on his friend, but now he stays put. He knows what’s waiting for him down there and it’s nothing good. He lets it be.

Rome is sentenced to three years upstate and then he’s gone for good. Brian never says goodbye, never visits, never even tries for a phone call. The guilt eats him up from the inside out, but he knows it’s the right choice – both for Rome who fucking hates him and for himself who needs to find a way to move on.

_Go find yourself a boyfriend or something_ , Rome had said in the heat of the moment. It was an insult more than it was a real suggestion, but Brian can’t get it out of his head. He doesn’t actually want a boyfriend – that’s all a little too real for him – but maybe he could do with a distraction. Someone to get Rome off his mind. Someone to fill in all the empty spaces where Rome used to be and make Brian whole and complete again. Someone to fix him up, set him straight.

There’s one gay cop at the LAPD. Or at least…there used to be. With Brian’s arrival, that number increases by a hundred percent. 

“Don’t mind Graham,” the detective giving him the tour tells him. “He’s a fairy but he’s harmless. If he ever hits on you, just tell him to fuck off and he’ll leave you alone.”

“Good to know,” Brian says weakly, forcing a smile.

But when Graham hits on him at some work party, Brian categorically _doesn’t_ tell him to fuck off. He’s sweating and trembling and scared out of his mind, but he gives it back almost as well as he gets it, making sure the dude knows he means it. They end up going home together that night and going further than he ever did with Rome. Lying facedown on the mattress with Graham draped over him is less scary than Brian thought it would be – it’s actually really, really good. 

After it’s over, years of repression and denying himself come crashing down on him all at once and Brian cries because he just can’t help it. He feels like a fucking idiot, quickly knuckling his tears away and scrambling desperately for his clothes so he can disappear into the night and never come back. Just like Rome did.

Graham catches him gently by the wrist to calm his shaking hands. “Stay,” he says quietly. “You don’t have to run off.”

Brian turns to him slack-jawed, surprised to see nothing but understanding and gentleness on the guy’s face. “What?”

“Stay. Come lie back down.”

Brian does as he’s told, tears still tracking pathetically down his cheeks. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice embarrassingly thick. No matter how he scrubs at his face, more tears fall. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. You—you shouldn’t have to deal with me, I’m so sorry.”

But Graham just wraps his arms around Brian, pulling him close. “There’s nothing wrong with you,” he promises, barely above a whisper. He presses a featherlight kiss to Brian’s temple. “It’s okay. You’re okay.” Then he murmurs, “Was that your first time?”

The question floors Brian, not because it’s an unreasonable assumption considering the fact that he’s in fucking _tears_ in a man’s bed, but because it’s being asked at all. “We’re…gonna talk about it?”

“I mean, we don’t have to. But I thought it might calm you down a little.”

Brian takes a deep, shuddery breath. “Yeah, it was,” he admits, which would probably embarrass him normally, but Graham has been nothing but sweet all night so he thinks he can risk it. “I’ve done plenty of other stuff, but never—you know. All the way.” His face goes hot. “I’m not used to talking about it.”

Graham doesn’t ask him to explain, just strokes Brian’s hair and calls him baby until he manages to pull himself together. He’ll never know how grateful Brian is for him. Even if they never hook up again, he’s exactly what Brian needed when he needed it most. When Brian leaves in the morning, he feels more content and less broken that he’s been in ages. 

\---

The next few years are an absolute whirlwind, no opportunity to slow down. Brian goes undercover to take down a team of street racers gone truck robbers and falls in love with his mark _and_ his mark’s sister. The genuine love he has for Dom is only part of the reason that he lets him go – the other part is pure guilt, still hating himself for letting Rome go to prison without so much as a goodbye. He couldn’t help Rome, but he _can_ help Dom.

That’s how Brian ends up in Miami, new scene, new life, new friends, and hopefully enough miles between himself and LA that the cops won’t try to come after him.

They do, of course. They’re the fucking LAPD. But Bilkins has always had a kind of fatherly affection for Brian, deserved or not, and he doesn’t show up to drag Brian away in cuffs. He shows up to cut Brian a deal: take down infamous drug lord Carter Verone and his record is wiped completely clean. Even his stint in juvie.

When Brian finds out that he needs a partner, one that can fight and lie and ride like hell, all he can think about is Rome. He’s been out for about a year now, probably on probation, so he’s definitely available. And if anyone could use a clean slate, it’s Roman Pearce.

Too bad he hates Brian’s guts.

But with five years, a prison sentence, and a federal crime amassed between them, Brian is willing to go out on a limb and try. There’s no one on earth he’d rather drive with than Rome. Not Dom, not Mia, not any of the racers or gearheads – both men and women – he’s hooked up with since moving to Miami. Just Rome.

Besides, he misses his best friend. Even after everything, he misses him.

Their first meeting goes about as well as Brian expected. Rome instantly swings at him, catching Brian in the jaw and sending him stumbling. They end up rolling around in the sand like they’re kids again, grunting and throwing punches and cussing a blue streak. When they’ve finally tired themselves out, Bilkins looking on in amusement, Rome is sprawled between Brian’s legs, panting for air and looking fucked out. If Brian had thought he was over Rome, his dick decisively erases that delusion. He’s really glad he wore jeans instead of shorts today.

Because he’s a fucking grown ass man, twenty-six years old despite Barstow’s best attempts at putting him into an early grave, Brian controls himself while Bilkins explains the details of the deal to Rome. His heart is pounding and his pants are too tight, but he manages not to let on, even tossing a “Man, quit playing like you’re gonna pass this up,” at Rome that surprisingly doesn’t get him punched again.

They don’t leave the derby until they have an affirmative answer from Rome. Then it’s back to the hotel where Brian holes up in the bathroom and finally, _finally_ gets his hand on his dick. When he comes it’s with no small amount of guilt, mind flitting to the last time he’d slept with Rome. It’s an experience he hasn’t let himself think about all that often, not when he gets off and not in day-to-day life, either. If he does, he knows he’ll spend the rest of his life chasing that high he felt being there with Rome, young and stupid and body buzzing with love before everything came crashing down.

Everything always comes crashing down. It’s pretty much the O’Conner special at this point.

Which is why it’s so surprising that the Verone job goes so well. It takes a while for Brian and Rome to get back into the swing of their friendship, squabbling at every opportunity with more venom that they’d ever done in the past. They’ve always been bitchy to each other, but never like this. This is real. This is betrayal. This is a broken relationship.

They don’t talk about what went down in Brian’s bedroom that night. If anyone asks about their obvious friction, they attribute it to the whole police thing. Rome went to jail and Brian’s cop ass didn’t do anything to stop it. It’s believable enough, especially since it’s mostly true. It’s not like Brian expected Rome to bring up that last horrible fight or any details of their past relationship – they’ve gone this long without discussing it, why would they start now?

The rules didn’t suddenly change just because they’re older now.

Facing almost certain death together has a way of dissolving past conflicts, however, and by the time Verone is being shoved into the back of a cop car, Brian and Rome are best friends again. Not the friends with benefits they were for a while, but the easy, youthful friends they were before juvie. If Brian thinks about it too hard, he gets dangerously misty-eyed. He almost lost the most important person in his life and he’s not going to do anything to jeopardize their newfound comradery. 

That includes getting jealous when Rome makes the most of what Miami has to offer, bringing sun-kissed beach babes back to their shared apartment above their new garage, sometimes more than one at a time. In times past it would’ve eaten away at Brian, a toxic, angry fist clenched in his belly, but he’s stubbornly not doing that anymore. Rome isn’t his. Rome will _never_ be his. And that’s okay, because being Rome’s best friend is better than anything he could ever imagine.

Brian is _so_ fucking lucky.

So he moves on and he _keeps_ moving on, bringing his own hookups home and even going on dates with some of them. There’s no way that Rome has managed to miss the fact that Brian is sleeping with men as well as women, but he never says anything. Any fears Brian had that he might freak out and leave again are assuaged as time goes on. Rome lets him be and he lets Rome be and it’s good. It’s easy.

It’s how it’s meant to be.

\---

They’re working on some souped-up Eclipse – probably stolen if the owner’s nerves and shifty instructions are anything to go by – when Rome breaks their most important rule. He talks about it.

“I wanted to kiss you back, you know.”

Brian nearly drops his wrench inside the mess under the hood in his shock. “What?”

“Back in Barstow.” Rome is looking studiously at the floor. “I wanted to kiss you back and it scared me. It _still_ scares me.”

Brian’s eyes are so huge he’s afraid they might pop out of his head. It’s exactly what he’s wanted to hear for five whole fucking years, but now that he’s been given this gift, he doesn’t know what to do with it. He needs to tread lightly lest it all blow up in his face again.

To that end, he breaks into a grin and says, “You _have_ always been a pussy.”

It has the desired effect, Rome clicking his teeth in annoyance and giving Brian an almighty shove that knocks him against the work bench. “God, shut the fuck up,” he laughs, big, beautiful smile pulled across his face. “I hate your ass, you know that?”

“Sure, sure. Whatever you say, Roman.”

“I don’t know why I’m telling you that,” Rome admits, rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck. “I just figured you should know. I was…absolutely awful to you that night and you didn’t deserve none of it, man. I, uh—” He cringes, like even the memory is enough to cause him physical pain. Brian can relate. “I shouldn’t have called you a f—uh, that word, neither. That was fucked up. I’m sorry, okay?”

This time Brian lets the wrench fall to the ground with a metallic clatter. “You mean it?” he asks, words coming out raspy and more vulnerable than he’s okay with.

Rome nods. “I mean it.”

“Thanks, man.” 

Then, throwing caution to the wind, Brian grabs Rome by the shoulders and throws him up against the side of the Eclipse, making Rome cry out in shock. A flicker of recognition registers in his dark eyes and Brian knows he’s thinking of that night in the driveway. Brian holds deathly still, waiting to see if Rome will pull away or shove him off or make any indication that he wants this situation, whatever it is, to come to an end, but there’s nothing. Just Brian and Rome, chest to chest and hips to hips and, finally, eye to eye.

“Yeah?” Brian whispers, needing to be certain. He’ll fucking stab himself if he fucks this up now.

Rome only nods, lips pressed together.

That’s all the convincing Brian needs, leaning in to press a gentle peck to Rome’s mouth, gleefully and contentedly breaking rule number two. He pulls back quickly, not wanting to overwhelm him, eyebrows raised as if to ask _was that alright?_ He licks his lips, waiting on the verdict.

As per usual, the verdict doesn’t come in words. It comes in Rome closing the hood of the Eclipse and pressing Brian down onto it, attacking Brian’s mouth with pleasant voracity. Laughing out loud, Brian kisses back to the best of his ability, feeling lighter than air. The hood of the car is cold against his back, but Rome is burning hot, body pressed to the full length of him and calloused hands holding Brian’s head in place. It’s everything Brian imagined that kissing Rome would be like – rough and exuberant and _fun_. It feels kind of like a competition, rolling around on the metal and each trying to end up on top, but in this game they both win.

Brian loves Rome so much.

Without warning, Rome rakes his fingers through Brian’s hair, taking a good handful and yanking on it until Brian’s head crashes back against the hood. It lights his entire body on fire and he moans out loud, dizzy with arousal. “No fair,” he groans, shuddering. “Rome!”

“You’re still into that, huh?” he teases, petting at the top of Brian’s head to soothe the sting. “Crazy ass white boy.”

“Leave me alone,” Brian laughs, arms wrapped around Rome’s back and face pressed into his shoulder. It feels absolutely incredible to get to hold him, especially sober. Especially when he knows he’s not going to be left alone afterwards.

He’s hard in his jeans because he can’t help it, but he’s careful not to rub his hips against Rome or squirm too much. They’re not going to fuck today. They’re probably never going to fuck ever again. That era of their life is over, signed and sealed with this kiss. They both have big things ahead of them, _good_ things, and they’re going to face them side by side as friends, as business partners, as brothers in arms. 

They’re going to conquer the world.

Brian surges up for one last kiss, curling a hand around the back of Rome’s neck to hold him in place. The desperation has disappeared, leaving them with a fleeting moment of pure, unabashed tenderness. Rome swipes a thumb beneath Brian’s eye and then pulls away.

“This ain’t Barstow,” he says, sounding a little awed.

“It sure ain’t,” Brian agrees, giving his shoulder a quick squeeze. Then he grins wickedly. “Should probably make sure we didn’t scratch the paint job.”

“If we did, you’re paying for it.”

“Why me? You’re the one that chucked me onto the fucking hood.”

“Only because you were kissing me like a fucking nun. I had to take matters into my own hands.”

Brian cackles, whipping at Rome’s ass with a dirty rag. “Well, if you’ve been kissing nuns, that’s your first problem, Pearce!”

They hoot and holler and tussle like idiots and, most importantly, they talk about it. Because, as anyone in Barstow would tell you, rules are made to be broken. In fact, Brian would say it’s the entire fucking point.


End file.
